Destiny
by Violet-Pears
Summary: Time always moves forward. What happens in the past gets buried and forgotten. Albion is long in the past and with it, the heroes of old. Magic is nothing but a fairy tale. Time changes everything. He can tell you that. He has witnessed the decline and the rise of the country and with it, he wants nothing but life to go back to the way it once was.


**Just a little one shot. I may turn it into a full chapter story another time but I'm already working on one of those. I just took a little time to write this thing. Hopefully y'all enjoy it.**

**Now for a boring old history fact that is actually rather relevant to this particular story. Albion was the name of the landmass of great Britain until during the Roman invasion when the Romans titled it Britannia. After the invasion we retitled it Britain but continued to call it Albion for many years. It is stilled called Albion in a number of novels that have been written in a number of novels that have been written.**

**On another note, everything belongs to Lionhead studios.**

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It had been a long time. A _very_ long time. It had been two thousand years since the Hero of Oakvale had defeated the Jack of Blades. It had been one thousand and seven hundred years since the Shadow Court had been released upon Oakvale and turned it into Wraithmarsh. It had been one thousand and five hundred years since the Hero of Bowerstone had defeated Lucian. It had been over one thousand four hundred years since the defeat of the Crawler. It had been over a thousand years since the defeat of the Corruption.

He had witnessed most of it. Been involved with most of it. He had watched as Albion had transformed. The Corruption had taken its toll on the world. It changed the way everything worked and the way people acted. So much had been destroyed. An entire age seemed to vanish. The Corruption had devastated his world. The civilisation changed. Belief left the people. A once industrial world was no more. It had been reduced to go back to the start.

Slowly the world adapted again. No longer Albion, a country he had (secretly) loved. It was Britain. A country that eventually became industrial once more. He watched the country flourish. Factories. Cars. Planes. Radios. Televisions. Trains. Trams. Computers. Mobile Phones. Technology. After years of calm, slow developments, the world was producing more and more and it could make his head spin if he thought about it long enough. He preferred the world as it once was.

He had watched magic leave the world. He had watched as it became myth and legend. He became heartbroken as he watched the world, realising that the only people who believed were children. Balverines, Hobbes and Hollow Men vanished after the Corruption had been defeated. It was a world that had become cold. A world he had watched change in ways that even he could not consider to be pleasant. Adventures and quests did not exist. If people wanted excitement they read books or watched movies. They all seemed far too scared to try something _dangerous_ and exciting.

Due to lack of excitement in his life he began to dwell more and more on the past. He began to dwell on things he had tried so hard to suppress. One in particular was the life and death of the Hero Queen. A woman who had both confused and enamored him. She had tried time and time again to break her way through his heart, without realising that she was doing or had done so. All she had attempted was to befriend him and in the end, she had gained and broken his heart. The Hero Queen who had convinced him to try and lead an honest life. The Hero Queen who had convinced him that he was not alone in this world.

He had convinced himself that she could not and would not die. She had survived so much. She had lived so long and barely aged past twenty five. The untimely and unexpected death hit him hard. It shook him and (though he would never admit it) it broke him. After a year, he had slipped back to his old self. Out for his own gain. He became the head of industry. He had lost some of his desire to kill innocent people, but he had a facade to keep up.

He travelled the world time and time again. After the Corruption he spent many more years as a pirate. He had never thought of going back to an innocent life. As the ages went by he had to adapt. Changing location and job. 'Dying' over and over again. He developed a knack for creating birth certificates, pass ports and death certificates. He had to keep one step ahead of everyone else. He owned huge houses all across the world. His favourite being one in London. A building that reminded him of both his Millfields Mansion and his Bloodstone Manor. A house built in late eighteenth century and contained little to no electricity.

It was in that particular house that he kept all his weapons and mementoes of Albion and his experiences before the Corruption. He kept the weapons locked up, all except one. His first Dragonstomper .48. It had been his most trusted companion from the day he had first been given it. He kept it tucked into the back of his trousers at all times.

He had gotten a job as a police officer in early two thousand and two. Five months later, in a drunken stupor he had met a man who was trying to create a video game, and he had given said man every piece of information he would need to create the game _Fable_. The years went by and he was getting ready to move on once more. He had spent far longer than he had intended in London and he began to suspect that people may have started noticing his lack of aging.

"Oi. Mister."

He raised his head. Sighing slightly as he met the gaze of the blonde man that was sauntering towards him. He could swear that it was the reincarnation of Ben Finn. Next to him was a woman that made him do a double take. Bright, sky blue eyes and milky white skin. She was tall and slim with chestnut brown hair that fell in waves around her face. His heart squeezed painfully.

"How can I help you, Bart?"

A cocky grin appeared on the man's face. "Our good ole boss asked me to introduce you to Inspector Sparrow."

His heart gave yet another painful squeeze. He nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, my dear." He forced his trademark smirk up onto his face. "I used to have a friend who went by the name, Sparrow. Wonderful woman. Haven't seen her..." He stopped, taking in a sharp breath. "Anyway, I'm Ryan."

A small smile appeared on the woman's face. There was somewhat of a glow about her. "Was it her real name? Mine's is a pet name that I cannot seem to get rid of."

He looked at her, his heart rate increasing at rates he had not deemed possible. His hands were becoming sweaty. "I asked her once. Bad idea, she was not in a good mood. Threatened to shoot me and told me 'if you do not get out of my sight right now I swear to god I will set Hannah on you and have her shred you, you narcissistic bastared'. God, I miss that woman."

She let out a tinkling laugh. "Who, Hannah or Sparrow?"

"Sparrow, obviously." He scoffed. "I could not stand Hannah. Anyway, I must be off. Tatty-bye."

He had been glad to get the next day off. He spent most of his day locked away with his mementoes. He was, for once, happy to let his memories take over. The thought of what had happened and what was going on confused him. Perhaps a reincarnation of Sparrow, but he didn't want to dwell on his other suspicions. He couldn't take the chance to get his hopes up.

A knock at his door took him out of his musings. Annoyed he worked his way around the candle lit house. Gold's and reds covering many of the floors and walls. Portraits from over a thousand years ago decorated his walls. A portrait of the four Heroes. Of the Queen and her two children. Of the Queen and her two most loyal soldiers Walter and Major Swift. Of Logan and Princess Rose. There were many portraits, too many of them for him to want to count.

He reached to the oak door and pulled it open, his breathing hitched in his throat. She was dressed in a pale blue shirt, faded jeans and black, worn converse.

"How can I help you, my dear?" He forced out.

"I have a proposition for you."

A smirk spread across his white face as he ran a hand through his black hair. "You know, my dear, you really should not be 'propositioning' colleagues."

She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing before she hissed out. "Not that sort of proposition."

"Very well then, in you come. I hope you do not mind a lack of lighting and television."

She stepped into the house and he shut the door behind her before leading her through to the drawing room. Two chairs were positioned in front of an open fire. Numerous book cases were built into the walls. A large table was placed by the window, papers and books were strewn across it. His trusted Dragonstomper .48 sat on top of a thick leather bound book.

"Over the years I have, discovered a number of things. One of such things is numerous passage ways that lead underground." Sparrow started to explain. She was staring blankly at the table while twiddling her fingers. "There is a number of things that is kept within these passages."

"Anything that will benefit me?" He asked, picking the Dragonstomper up off of the table.

"That depends." She replied, looking up at him.

"On what? Ma chérie, I highly doubt there is anything that would interest me in such caves."

"Well, it depends on just how much you miss your old life."

He gave out a falsely cheery laugh, examining the gun in his hand as if he had never laid eyes upon it before. "And what do you know about my old life, my dear?"

"I could answer that question and tell you what's in those passages with just eight words." A cocky smile began to spread across her face, her eyes meeting his dark green ones.

"Oh, please enlighten me darling." He was curious, trying to work her out as he watched each tiny movement she made.

"Just how much do you miss Albion, Reaver?"

"You are a little minx." A sly smile spread across his face. "But prey tell me, how did..."

"Death never was my destiny."


End file.
